


Short Circuit

by twokisses



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Eventual Smut, Humor, Lapdance, M/M, Non-Graphic Smut, Shorts (Clothing), Simon Snow in booty shorts, Smut, Teasing, That is all, why is there a tag for that lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:10:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21769378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twokisses/pseuds/twokisses
Summary: Baz feels like his brain has quit on him.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 10
Kudos: 198





	Short Circuit

**Author's Note:**

> written at a request from a tumblr anon for "baz getting turned on by simon in booty shorts, and at first simon doesn't understand why baz is being so skittish but when he does he goes all sly and ends up giving baz a wicked lapdance"
> 
> this prompt honestly made me crack up at first but then a 2.7k fic happened, so... guess the anon's laughing now

One minute after getting off the plane in California, Simon and Penny begin complaining about the heat. Which Baz considers taking offense at, considering that he’s the one who’s going to be the most affected by the sun on this trip. But everyone knows that already, so he decides to let them rant.

“I’m dying,” Simon groans. They’re still walking across the asphalt from the plane, but Simon already looks even more gorgeous than usual - bronze hair lit up by the sun, blue eyes glinting. His skin is awash in light and absolutely glowing. He's got his duffel bag slung over one shoulder, and the wheels on his luggage bump restlessly along behind him. 

Baz rolls his eyes. “Don’t be dramatic."

“What a role reversal,” Penny comments, from Baz’s other side. She's panting slightly too. “That’s normally you, Basil.”

“Yes, well, in this case, I am the only one of us who could actually die from the exposure.” Alright, so he’s apparently not above that bit of pettiness.

“Can we find a shop as soon as possible?” Simon asks. “I need some summer-y clothes.”

Baz says, “You already went shopping at home.”

“Yeah, well, London doesn’t know a thing about California's sun.”

“Or maybe you were just bad at finding the right shops.”

Penny cuts in before they can really get going: “We’ll look for something on the way to the hotel. Come on.”

\---

They do manage to find something on the way to the hotel. Simon, especially, finds Something, with a capital S.

Baz feels like his brain has quit on him.

“This is amazing,” Simon had sighed a moment ago, exiting the dressing room in what Baz thought, at first, were just his pants. 

It's taken him a (very long) second to realise that Simon  _ is  _ actually wearing something on top of them: shorts. They've just taken the name to a whole new level, and are made of some sort of stretchy material that was definitely intended to cling to every bit of skin it finds.

Baz knows he's blushing.

“Snow, what  _ is  _ that?”

Simon looks up at him, confused. The woman who’s been recommending them clothes leans over to Penny and murmurs something in her ear. Penny starts giggling hysterically, and Baz turns his incredulous stare on her instead.

“What?” he asks.

Penny shakes her head, still laughing. Simon asks, looking down at his shorts, “What’s wrong with them?”

“Nothing, Simon,” Penny says, a bit too quickly. “Baz is just conservative.”

“I am  _ not _ .”

Simon swats him on the arm, rolling his eyes. “Baz, it’s fine. Everyone wears shorts here. It’s California. Beach city.”

“Would you like to get these, then?” the woman asks, with the pretty blue beach dress Baz helped Penny choose already draped over one arm. There’s a hint of amusement in her pleasant smile that makes Baz narrow his eyes, but Simon is already agreeing to purchase the items, and that’s that.

\---

"We should rent bicycles," Penny is saying, looking through something on her phone as they walk down the sun-drenched street. (They've just left all their bags at the hotel.) "That way we can see lots of things but also cover a decent amount of ground."

Simon is nodding along to her suggestion. He’s a few steps ahead of Baz, mostly keeping pace with Penny's business stride. Baz is only half-listening. At the moment, eighty percent of his brain power is going into  _ not  _ looking at Simon.

He’s failing spectacularly. Because Simon looks good. He looks  _ really  _ good. Baz has seen all there is to see of his body by now, but this is different. It’s heightened. This is Simon Snow strolling under America’s summer sun, in a white T-shirt and light grey short (short, short) shorts. There’s so much golden skin in front of Baz’s eyes - taut around the muscle Simon’s been building back up these past few months, generously sprinkled with freckles and moles - but it’s not just what can be seen that’s working Baz up. It’s what can’t, but is playfully suggested. The curve of Simon’s bum in those shorts must be illegal. It’s making Baz dizzy in the head. 

_ Crowley. _

_ “Baz.” _

Baz blinks, and realises, with a flush, that Penny and Simon have both stopped and turned to look at him. (At least his eyes aren't directed anywhere near Simon’s bottom anymore - they must have drifted with his thoughts.)

“What?” he asks.

“Oh, welcome back.” Penny doesn’t sound shocked - just amused. There’s a glint in her eyes that Baz recognises from back at the shop. When that woman whispered whatever it was into her ear. 

Definitely evil.

“Are you okay with the bike idea?” Simon asks him now, looking slightly puzzled. He’s frowning at Baz. Baz avoids his eyes. 

“Yeah, fine. That’s fine.”

\---

It is not fine. There is going to be at least one casualty today, and the number just depends on whether Baz eventually ends up swerving into an object or a person. 

If he thought seeing Simon walk in those bloody shorts was bad, he wasn’t prepared for the sight of Simon cycling in them. It’s everything from before and more. Those ridiculous shorts have ridden up so high Baz thinks he can catch glimpses of Simon's pants. That also leaves every bit of Simon's legs exposed, and the muscles in his calves and thighs (hard and lovely from consistent exercise) flex every time he pushes down on the pedals. 

There’s a light film of sweat slicking Simon’s face and neck, making them shine. Baz finds himself wanting to lick it off Simon's skin. He feels like he's fifteen again, getting stupid over the sight - and thought of - Simon Snow's body.

He clenches his fists around his bike handles and pushes forward. 

They make a stop for ice cream and waffles at some point, and the three of them huddle around the chalkboard menu that’s been propped outside the shop to check out its offerings. After they’ve decided, Penny collects their orders, then goes inside to get it for them.

“You okay?” 

Baz has been fiddling with the basket on his bicycle to avoid looking at Simon, but he does, finally, at Simon’s inquiry. Simon is staring at him, both eyebrows raised. He’s still got both legs straddling his bike, but he’s leaning forward on the handlebars now, with an open water bottle in his hand. His back curves smoothly from shoulder to tailbone. Baz has to force his gaze not to follow the arc further down.

"Yes," he says, raising an eyebrow for good measure. "Why wouldn't I be?"

“I don’t know,” Simon says, and it looks like he means it. Good. Baz really does not need him finding out what’s preoccupying him. “You just seem a little… off.”

“I’m fine, Snow.” Baz reaches out a hand for the bottle, and Simon takes a swig - his throat moves very distractingly - before handing it to Baz. 

They maintain eye contact while Baz drinks. It feels terribly intimate.

Once Baz is done, Simon says, “Come here.”

And despite knowing it to be a  _ very _ bad idea, Baz does. 

Simon’s hand is on the back of his neck in a second, and he gets pulled into the kiss he’s been thinking of for the better part of the day. His eyes fall closed. He leans in, drinking in the feel of Simon’s mouth sliding against his, the smell of his skin - salty and sharp - and the smell of the blood underneath it - sweet and buttery. He nips at Simon’s lower lip so he can move in with his tongue. Simon makes a small noise of surprise, but he lets him go, and Baz is being consumed. He feels strung tight, like he could snap at any second. His hands come up to Simon’s hips -

Then the door is jingling open, and they break apart.

“You two need to find better places and times,” Penny says. She shoves two ice creams cones at their faces, forcefully, but she’s grinning.

\---

“Seven o’clock tomorrow, guys,” Penny says, stepping out of the hotel lift onto their floor. She has two bags’ worth of new clothes hanging off her arm (the result of Baz’s pushing rather than her own drive). Simon groans, but she doesn’t even look back as she sets off down the corridor.  _ “Don’t sleep late,” _ she says, and Baz rolls his eyes at the emphasis, “and don’t sleep in. We have a full day tomorrow.”

“Goodnight to you too, Penelope,” Baz says. She waves an arm over her shoulder, then disappears into her room. 

It’s opposite Simon and Baz’s. Baz gets the key out of his pocket and unlocks their door. Simon is quiet beside him.

Once they’re inside, Baz kicks off his shoes by the entrance, then walks over to the bed (queen-sized, blankets smooth and white) while starting to unbutton his shirt. He hears the door shut firmly behind Simon, then the similar sounds of him taking off his own shoes. Then there’s a pause.

“Baz, tell me. What’s been on your mind?”

Baz stiffens slightly, by the foot of the bed. He takes a quick breath. “Snow, I already told you, it’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” Simon insists. His voice has gotten closer. Baz forces himself to continue undoing his buttons, and doesn’t turn around. Simon says, “You kept looking at me today. And then looking away whenever  _ I _ tried looking at  _ you _ .”

“Isn’t that what our relationship has always been like?”

_ “Baz.” _ Simon’s hand comes to rest on Baz’s forearm, and it tugs, pulling him around so he’s face-to-face with him. Crowley, Simon’s eyes are so blue. And, at the moment, intent. On Baz’s eyes. Then his mouth. “The way you kissed me earlier…”

“Simon.”

“What have you been thinking of?”

Baz can’t help it - the whip-quick glance down Simon’s body. It’s like trying not to think of the pink elephant. He can’t control himself. He sees Simon catch the movement, and normally the significance might have escaped him - Simon Snow isn’t the most observant person Baz knows. But he was already looking so carefully at Baz, looking for signs of anything at all. An indication.

Baz sees the realisation hit Simon’s face a moment later.

“My  _ shorts _ ?” Simon asks. 

Baz opens his mouth, then closes it. “Snow - ” he tries.

He sees Simon's eyes start to shimmer with amusement. It’s intoxicating, but also embarrassing, in this context. “Baz, have my  _ shorts _ been bothering you?”

Baz makes a noise of frustration and pushes away from him. "Forget it, Snow." He turns and sits heavily on the bed, then starts tugging off his socks. Simon’s legs move in front of him, then two fingers are reaching out and hooking under his chin, nudging his face up.

“Baz,” Simon says. He’s biting on his lip to contain his laughter, but it does nothing to dampen the brilliance of his grin. “They’re just shorts.”

“They’re very short shorts, Snow.”

That does it. Simon starts giggling, and Baz shakes his head.

"Also, they're… figure-hugging."

“Are they really?” Simon asks, all faux-innocence. He cocks his head as if confused, looks down at his shorts with his arms lifted in question, and turns around.

_ “Simon,” _ Baz groans.

Simon's laugh is bright and unreserved. He spins back around, and Baz almost thanks Merlin and Morgana for that small bit of mercy, but then Simon is moving forward and placing his hands on Baz’s shoulders, and Baz’s brain short-circuits as he straddles him. His knees find the soft comforter on either side of Baz’s legs, and he lowers himself until he’s sitting in Baz's lap. Baz’s hands come up to rest on Simon’s hips of their own volition. 

Simon smiles at him - blue, blue eyes - then leans in and presses their mouths together.

As usual, it wipes every thought Baz might have been having right out of his head. Everything is Simon Snow, on his lips, in his lap, within his arms. Simon kisses him, and kisses him, and laughs when Baz’s fingers find the waistband of his shorts. He’s not doing anything there, just hooking his fingers under it, but Simon reaches down and pulls his hands away, presses them flat into the bedspread.

“Not yet,” he says.

Baz has always been a slave to Simon Snow’s wants. So he stays still, even when Simon draws his hands away and moves them to the hem of his T-shirt. He pulls it up and then over his head. Baz's eyes are hungry, for everything - the bunch and stretch of Simon's biceps with the movement, the dreamy expanse of golden skin that his shirt was hiding earlier. Simon's hair gets tugged into a mess as the neck of his shirt passes over it. When he discards the shirt onto the floor by the bed, he's slow about it. Purposeful. Watching Baz the whole time.

"Simon," Baz says. It's just a breath.

"Tell me what else."

"What else what?" Simon Snow half-naked in front of him always gives Baz's verbal skills a knock.

"What else you liked about the shorts," Simon says. That infuriating grin - Baz hates how confident and self-assured Simon has become around him. Or rather, he hates what it does to him. It is doing things to him.

"I already said all there was to say."

Simon looks at him steadily. Then his chin tilts down, and Baz's eyes follow the movement. Simon has one of the drawstrings of his shorts between the fingers of one hand (the other is still on Baz's neck). The tension in it - the string - is a clear suggestion.

There would definitely be a blush on Baz's face, if all his blood weren't rushing elsewhere.

"Are you sure?" Simon asks. 

That's all it takes for Baz to talk.

"Your - you - the way you looked," he stumbles, the words trying to get out so hastily they trip over each other. "From… behind. Crowley, Simon, I - " He stops for a brief moment, as Simon's hips lift off his thighs, but continues when Simon raises his eyebrows, " - I couldn't focus… On anything else. I couldn't think."

The knot in the drawstring is pulled loose. Then it comes undone, and the waistband of the shorts falls a little slack on Simon's hips. Baz is transfixed.

"Go on," Simon murmurs. His arms come up to wind around Baz's neck.

"You were unbearably distracting today, Snow," Baz breathes. He's still looking at Simon's hips, and he groans as they move, still elevated off Baz's lap, forward and then back, so slowly. The tease of an act that Baz wants so badly he almost feels it against him anyway.

"It was bad enough, when we were walking, and you were in front of me. I could see… Fuck, too much. I was losing my mind."

Another roll of the hips. Those fucking shorts are pulling slightly over Simon's thighs, and between his legs. It's obvious that he's in much the same predicament as Baz at the moment. Baz's hands are fists in the comforter.

"Then we had to go  _ cycling _ .” He huffs a slightly strained laugh. "Your legs are a health hazard, Snow. There should be a ban on them."

That makes Simon laugh too, husky and pleased, into the space between them. They've both got their faces tilted down to where they're not quite joined, but when Baz glances up, Simon is, really, focused on his mouth. This time he feels the wave of Simon's hips as a ghost-touch against his. It sets his nerves off like a shock. He feels it in every part of him.

"Simon," Baz rasps. He's right on the edge of his control, he's clutching at straws to keep himself in check. "You're just… you're…"

"What?" Simon whispers, still holding on to a smile at the very corners of his mouth.

"Irresistible," Baz says.

And that's all it takes. Simon's mouth is on his a second before he presses back down into Baz's lap, and Baz can't keep down the noise that pulls up from his throat. He releases his white-knuckled grip on the sheets and finally, finally, brings them up to Simon, first against the backs of his thighs, and then higher, where he's really wanted to touch all day. He digs his fingers in and pulls Simon closer, just like that, and Simon lets out a sound that's a cross between a moan and a laugh, right against Baz's lips.

They only fall asleep as the sun is making its first venture into the sky. Penny's frustration the next morning is phenomenal. 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! for more of my snowbaz content (and shorter/older fics), pop over to my tumblr @sbazzing! :)


End file.
